


Chancing the Walls

by Lomonaaeren



Series: July Celebration Fics [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Aurors, M/M, Occlumency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7560880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knows he has to improve his Occlumency if he’s going to stay in the Aurors. He just thinks someone could have found him a better teacher than <i>Draco Malfoy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another of my July Celebration fics, for birdsofshore’s prompt about Harry, in the Aurors, learning Occlumency and being taught by Draco. This has been split into two parts since it’s long; the second part will be posted tomorrow.

“I’m your Occlumency teacher.”

Harry only nodded. He’d walked into this room in the bowels of the Ministry, found Malfoy waiting for him, and tried to walk right back out again. Only to find that the Locking Charms on the door wouldn’t let him leave. So he stood looking out over the bare stone room—well, bare except for two couches, one green and one silver—and let Malfoy’s words pass around him.

Kingsley had said he would assign a competent teacher. Harry would wait out the introduction and then go find Kingsley and explain what he thought of the _competence_ of this arrangement.

“My mind is the only one compatible enough with yours to teach you the Art, at least among Ministry-trusted Occlumens.”

“And how do you know _that_? Whoever told you that must have been as mental as you are—”

Malfoy took out a small tile without speaking and passed it to Harry. The moment it settled into his hand, Harry could feel the power, enough to make the hair on the back of his neck almost rustle with how fast it stood. He shivered and handed the tile back to Malfoy. It was bright blue, with a single green spot.

“They dipped this tile in a Pensieve filled with memories of you attempting to learn Occlumency at the start of your training,” said Malfoy, still in that strange, empty voice. “They hoped it would bring one memory to the surface that would show the prospective teacher exactly what kind of mistakes your last teacher made.”

_Not trusting me and trying to rape my mind were some of them,_ Harry thought, almost beyond irritation at this point.

“But while that failed, they did imbue the tile with enough of the feeling of your mind that a master Occlumens could touch it and feel his own shields react to it. Mine were the shields that opened and stayed open.”

Harry cocked his head. He remembered Hermione talking about that kind of test once upon a time, although she had never said it could be used to find an Occlumency teacher. “Then that means you feel comfortable with my mind?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened a little, losing a touch of their frost. That pleased Harry. He didn’t want to converse with an emotionless adult who had the power to reduce him to a squalling child. “Yes. Although I would not put it that way. I knew that I was the one who could be of most use to you.”

“Comfortable,” Harry repeated. “And I know exactly what went wrong with my last attempt to learn Occlumency, if you’re interested in learning about that.”

“I am very interested.” Malfoy leaned forwards, as if he thought that Harry would bolt in the opposite direction despite the locking spells on the door.

“He rummaged through my memories and tried to find sexual ones that he could sell to the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Harry said bluntly. “Before that I had Snape, who pushed into my mind and inflicted pain on me until I couldn’t stand up, all the while yelling at me to clear my mind. So excuse me if I don’t exactly trust you.”

Malfoy stared with his lips parted. It was a good mouth, Harry noticed, and abruptly looked away, hoping his blush was less fiery than Ron’s hair, no matter what it felt like.

This was the sort of thing Arnold Pewsey had dug through his mind in hopes of finding. Harry would tell people that he was gay when he wanted to, and not before. He could only hope that Malfoy hadn’t noticed, since he seemed a little stunned and not in contact with Harry’s mind yet.

Malfoy had recovered, though. “If true,” he said quietly, “that is reprehensible and they should have been prosecuted. I promise that a good Occlumens and his pupil have trust between them, Potter. I won’t betray anything I see in this room. In return, I expect the same courtesy from you.”

Harry shuddered a little. At least he was convinced for now by the seeming sincerity in Malfoy’s tone, although he would have to work with him a little more before he began to trust him. “How could I even get into your mind? Your shields are probably stronger than Snape’s.”

“You actually saw _into_ Professor Snape’s mind?”

Harry shrugged. “Only once. In flashes.”

Malfoy looked thoughtful. “Even that is more than most students would get in a glimpse from a Master Occlumens,” he said, and leaned forwards as if he thought he could see the truth behind Harry’s eyes. “Very well. I accept the terms. And I am going to assign you some exercises that should help in actually clearing your mind.”

Harry nodded shortly and decided that he probably wasn’t getting out of this, since Kingsley had been the one to approve Malfoy as his teacher. If he couldn’t, he couldn’t. He would take the instruction and do with it what he could.

“To clear your mind, it is first necessary to find the compatible colors for your mind.” Malfoy held up the tile again. “The colors on this tool strongly suggest that your compatible shades are blue and green.”

“Why _would_ they be?” Harry asked skeptically. “They’re not my favorite colors, or ones I like to dress in or have a strong association with. They weren’t even my House colors at school.”

Malfoy might have smiled slightly. “Not everything goes back to Houses at Hogwarts, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry conceded, deciding to ignore the fact that Malfoy had called him by his first name. He’d had to work with former Slytherins now, and Hufflepuffs, and every other combination of the Houses he could think of. “But why blue and green?”

“That’s what we have to find out.” Malfoy gestured, and Harry sighed and started to sit down on the floor. Malfoy waved his wand, and the green couch slid over and slithered under Harry’s arse. Harry decided not to say anything about the gesture or the couch or the colors, because they would be here all day if he did. He folded his hands under his chin and gave Malfoy a patient look.

“Relax.”

“My body or my mind?” Harry muttered, but Malfoy heard him.

“Ideally, both.” Malfoy lounged on the silver couch, so boneless suddenly that Harry had to stare at him and wonder if he had a bit of feline in his ancestry. “But lie down first, and try to work knots out of your back and neck. I can help you if you need that.”

“No thanks,” said Harry hastily, shuddering a little as he thought of the capital Malfoy would make out of _that_ , and let his head fall back and his muscles flow into the limp idleness he used when he would be in one place setting up an ambush for a long time. When his breath was a soft whisper of air in and out of his lungs, he murmured, “Now what?”

“Now you begin the process of opening your eyes. Pretend that you’re waking up after a night’s deep sleep and about to begin a holiday.”

Harry wanted to say that he didn’t have enough experience of that since he began an Auror, but he understood what Malfoy meant, and at least it was more instruction than Snape had ever given him. He rotated his head a little on the pillow Malfoy had conjured when Harry wasn’t looking and let his eyes tremble slowly open.

His relaxation had been to some good effect. He didn’t even flinch when he found Malfoy pointing his wand at him.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Malfoy breathed, and flowed into Harry’s head like the air was flowing into his lungs.

*

Harry remembered, just in time, not to steady himself and fight against the intrusion. He let Malfoy touch and seek and find, and even when it got to private memories and brushed past things he barely wanted to look at himself, he gritted his teeth and held still.

_Don’t do that, Potter. You want to be relaxed, so I can find colors that link to contemplation and serenity somehow, and the memories that produced them. Don’t tense._

_You could do anything you wanted,_ Harry replied, despite not knowing if Malfoy could hear him. _You could harm me. You could rip my mind to shreds the way Snape tried to do._  
  
_But I_ wouldn’t _do that_.

And the hell of it was, with someone this deeply inside him—Harry flushed and tried to ignore the other implications of that thought—he knew Malfoy was telling him the truth. You couldn’t lie when you were this deeply linked. It was the reason Harry had eventually figured out that his last Legilimency teacher was lying to him, when he began to see glimpses of his real motivations.

_Okay,_ he whispered, and tried to let go and drift.

_There is one source of the blue._

A memory that felt old and misty swam to the top of Harry’s mind. He stared at it. It was blue. Just blue. Nothing but that, spread over him. Then he realized he had other faint memories to go along with it, a scratchiness and the sense of being completely covered, and shook his head.

_It’s a blanket._

_That you must have had when you were a child. It was probably old and well-beloved. No wonder you find blue soothing._

_Can all the compatible colors of my mind come down to just one memory, though?_

_They can be planted by one memory. But I only need the one._

Before Harry could ask what he planned to do with it, that memory unspooled—it was the only word Harry could think of for the way the blanket just seemed to come apart—and they went on to the next one. This was a bright flash of green that made Harry open his mouth to tell Malfoy that he was mad if he thought the Killing Curse was going to be a comforting memory.

But then the sensation of warmth surrounded him, and the sound of a soft voice, and the green glowed above him.

Harry closed his eyes. He had no need of Malfoy’s words to tell him which memory this was. This was about being held close in his mother’s arms and sung to with a lullaby—and loved. The green came from her eyes.

_Remarkable, even at that age,_ Malfoy said, which could have meant anything, and Harry didn’t really want him to explain. But, being Malfoy, he did. _That that color would stand out that way. Your mother must have had beautiful eyes._

_She did_. Harry was sure of that, even if he only had photographs and, now, this one precious memory to tell him so.

He drifted slowly back to the surface of his mind, cradling the notion of the lullaby and the green eyes to himself. That was a better, earlier memory than the one of his mother dying in front of him while she screamed.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Malfoy clear his throat and look away. Maybe he’d heard Harry’s final thought about that. Harry couldn’t be angry. He wouldn’t have that new knowledge if not for the Legilimency.

“Good,” said Malfoy. “Now I know the blue and green are indeed your true compatible colors, and that means I can give you a series of exercises. Look at this tile and meditate on it.” He held out the blue tile with the spot of green that he’d been waving around before.

Harry accepted it and studied him in silence. Malfoy still had his eyes averted, and there was a flush to his cheeks Harry couldn’t explain. Unless—

“It was okay for me to be naked in that memory, you know,” he said. “Or those memories. I was a _baby_.”

Malfoy only shook his head and flicked his wand. The locking spells on the doors dissolved, and Harry knew he was free to go.

He only did it while looking over his shoulder at Malfoy, though. He hadn’t moved. He was still sitting in one place and staring at the floor.

Harry rolled his eyes a little. _If he’s uncomfortable with me being gay and having seen me naked when I was a baby, this Occlumency training_ isn’t _going to be a success. And it won’t be my fault._

*

“Did you meditate on the tile?”

“As much as I can.” Harry took the seat on the couch that Malfoy gestured at, wincing. He’d chased down a murderer this morning, and although he hadn’t really twisted his ankle—so said the Healers who’d glanced at it, anyway—it felt as if he had. “It’s hard to stare at something that long and not have it be boring, you know? My mind was always wandering off to other things.”

“Those recovered memories of yours?”

“Sometimes. But also whether I would be able to accomplish my mission today.” Harry had known about the planned ambush last night, and his thoughts had been jittery with nerves, as they always were before he entered a planned battle. Sometimes he thought he was lucky that he’d mostly jumped into situations feet-first when he was younger.

“All right.” Malfoy leaned slowly back and steepled his fingers. “I’m going to talk you into a meditative state, then.”

“How does that work? If I’m focusing on your voice and not this stupid tile or whatever I’m supposed to be thinking about—”

“My voice is going to be soothing. And the tile is _not_ stupid. Honestly, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was a little sharper now. “I’ve never trained anyone else in Occlumency who was this—this childish.”

“Excuse me if my ankle hurts and I want to do something that will help my future in the Aurors more than talking to you will,” Harry snapped, and raised his foot so that it was stretched out along the couch, wincing as that jostled it again.

“Does your ankle hurt?”

“The Healers say it’s nothing.”

“But that doesn’t mean it is.” Malfoy cast a spell that made a soft silver swirl surround Harry’s ankle, and he gasped as heat started to work its way into his skin. It also seemed to offer support, the way a Muggle bandage would, and Harry began to relax for the first time all day.

“Thanks, Malfoy.”

“I did it so that you could clear your mind and we could accomplish what we both came here for. Not because I wanted to be thanked.”

Harry opened his left eye lazily. Pure-bloods were touchy about debts, he knew that. Plenty of them had insisted on doing strange things after the war to repay him for the life-debts they didn’t want to owe him—debts Harry had never thought about or would have claimed. But this was the first time he’d had one act like a favor _owed_ to him was a problem.

“I don’t think the same way you do. It’s thanks, nothing else.”

“But you can repay me by focusing on my voice. If I’m someone you trust, that will make the meditation easier.”

Harry snorted, because of _course_ Malfoy would think like that, and did his best to listen. Malfoy was talking soft nonsense about Occlumency and how different people’s minds built their defenses, some soft and yielding, some like nets, some like wild beasts, some like walls…

That was something Harry’s attention snagged on. He would like to build walls in his mind, he decided. Ones that were soft and flexible, but which he could part any time he wanted to, and invite someone in. He’d like to watch them smile and reach out and touch the inner part of his thoughts, and he wouldn’t have to be afraid, the way he always had been of Legilimency after Snape.

_Professor Snape never should have done that to you. It was wrong._

Harry blinked. Yes, there was Malfoy drifting along in his thoughts. _I didn’t even hear you say the spell!_

_When you’re this close to me and focusing on my voice as the channel to let you go under, then I don’t have to._

Harry shifted uneasily for a moment, then decided he didn’t mind. Malfoy had been gentle in his thoughts so far. _Why did you say it was wrong for Snape to do that, though? He was the one who Dumbledore chose to teach me Legilimency._

_And Dumbledore was so infallible on everything else?_

Harry winced. He had spent weeks defending Dumbledore to Ron and Hermione when the full extent of his plan to have Harry sacrifice himself had come out, and he didn’t really want to do it with Malfoy, who he was just getting to really know. _That’s not a subject I want to discuss. Let’s talk about something else._

_All right. Those walls you want to build need to be made of some kind of material._

_How? They’re mental!_

A sigh that Harry couldn’t help picturing as the sigh of a peacock when some impudent wind came along and ruffled his feathers. He grinned. Malfoy continued with careful precision, _What you imagine is what controls the action around your walls. So pick some material that has qualities you can appreciate, qualities you feel comfortable with._

Harry could see the good sense of that, whether or not he would have walls _literally_ made of that material in his mind, so he nodded and closed his eyes more tightly. He thought of wool, silk, blankets like the kind he had apparently been wrapped in when he was a child…

But none of them seemed right. And neither did the stone walls that automatically sprang to mind from Hogwarts, where he had been loved and defended, but never safe. And anyway, stone walls weren’t the flexible ones that he said he wanted.

Frustrated, Harry burrowed deeper into his memory, looking at all the materials he could think of from his life, including the Muggle world, to try and find one that was suitable. Cardboard and newspaper were both too flimsy. Wood wasn’t flexible enough. Steel and iron got discarded for the same reason, and stone was right out. What…

And then he found it. The memory, or the impression, of something soft and flexible touched him. It was the velvet of a robe he’d once had to wear to a Ministry gala. Not something he remembered _that_ fondly, but on the other hand, there was a lot of give to it, and he could imagine crumpling it up to get it out of the way.

_Do you want to use something you don’t have positive feelings towards?_

_It’s not velvet I hate. It’s the parties I have to wear it to._

There was a sensation of movement through his mind like Malfoy was laughing to himself, but he coughed and cleared his throat before Harry could get angry. _Very well. Then imagine that there’s velvet surrounding and cradling your mind. It might help to imagine it as the inside of a jewelry box instead of robes. That would make it more natural._

Just to show that he could do things his own way, Harry pictured blue and green curtains of velvet shielding his mind. They could be whisked aside in a minute. When he _wanted_ to invite someone into his mind, that was the way he would do it. They probably wouldn’t even see the colors, but imagining them that way made him feel better.

_Yes! That’s the way to do it!_

Harry jumped. He hadn’t thought Malfoy would be so pleased, or that he was even still there.

But of course he would be. He would want to spy on Harry’s beginning Occlumency and only leave when he was sure Harry was doing things to his specifications.

_That’s not true._ Malfoy was bristling with indignation that struck Harry’s mind like sparks from stroking cat fur. _I’m here because I assumed you would need my support and help. I can leave if you’d like._

Harry reached out instinctively, because he didn’t want anyone to sound like that. _No, wait. I’m sorry. I only meant—_

There was a rippling movement like the one when Malfoy had laughed, and then Harry was abruptly somewhere else. He found himself freezing and staring around defensively. He was _inside_ something, he knew that, but he couldn’t see what it was. There was simply soft, swirling darkness around him, and it confused his sense of direction.

_You’re inside my mind, Potter. Trapped inside my Occlumency shields. Not trapped there forever only because I’m here to let you out._

Malfoy’s voice was brittle. Harry sighed. From some of the things Malfoy had said, he reckoned that it was really rude to step into someone’s mind when you hadn’t been invited. _Sorry. I’m always messing up._

_You have more strength than you know, if you can push past barriers that should keep a master Legilimens out just because you’re a bit upset._

Harry was still trying to decide if that was a compliment or an insult when the darkness parted. He saw something brightly lit and violent, heard the screams of someone being tortured, before he was abruptly back in his own mind.

_Was that the memory of Voldemort having you torture someone?_ Harry asked, before his good sense caught up with his thoughts.

Malfoy went still in his mind. Harry winced again. Not only had he probably committed a faux pas, but there was a difference between having someone watchful in his mind and having a predator like a coiled snake.

_How did you know about that?_

Malfoy’s voice was deadly, and Harry found himself adopting the calm tone that he’d been trained to use when negotiating with people who had hostages. _I saw it during the war. My connection with Voldemort in my scar—I saw things sometimes through his eyes. Sometimes I saw him commanding you to torture Death Eaters._

Malfoy was silent so long that Harry went back to imagining velvet walls, because it seemed like something that would be useful, which demanding answers from Malfoy wasn’t. And then Malfoy said, _I’m too tired to continue today_ , and withdrew from Harry’s mind.

Harry worked in silence on his Occlumency barriers for a while, because he didn’t really want to open his eyes and see what would probably be the expression on Malfoy’s face. By the time he did, Malfoy was turned away from him, smoothing one hand down his arms over and over again.

“Malfoy?”

Malfoy tilted his head in acknowledgment of his presence, but said only, “Occlumency requires a great degree of calm on the part of the teacher, and trust between teacher and student. It’s one reason that Professor Snape’s attempts to train you failed so spectacularly.”

Harry rolled his eyes, familiar with those accusations if only because he had turned fifth year around and around in his mind so many times, trying to see if he could have saved Sirius. “I had reason not to trust him. And why does he get to be excused for his hatred of me? He was the adult! I was only fifteen!”

He stopped breathing abruptly as Malfoy turned his head to look at him. His hands were still and his eyes narrowed.

“I am stating a fact, not blaming either one of you,” Malfoy said. “And right now, I don’t trust myself not to try and make a weapon of what I would find in your thoughts.” He whipped around to face the door and removed the locking charms. “Go home and practice meditation.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Harry said, and stood and walked through the door. He wasn’t going to apologize for more than that. He’d done something by accident, and it wasn’t the crime of the century.

But he _was_ sorry for making Malfoy uncomfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you do as I asked you to?”  
  
“Go home and meditate?” Harry took his time arranging himself on the couch today, wanting to feel his limbs fall loose and relaxed instead of tensing up the way they tended to do the minute he stepped into Malfoy’s presence. “Yes.”  
  
“Good.”   
  
Malfoy seemed in the mood for short responses and introductions today, given the way that he immediately whispered “ _Legilimens_ ” and attacked Harry’s mind. Harry met Malfoy’s eyes, told himself off for thinking of it as an attack when Malfoy was only trying to help, and leaned back into the couch’s embrace.   
  
This time, Malfoy’s attention was flickering and poking, as if searching for something. Harry resisted the temptation to compare it to the way Snape had approached his mind. For one thing, the way Malfoy touched his thoughts wasn’t actively painful.  
  
For another, he didn’t settle on one memory and try to drag it forwards. Instead, he kept flicking around, and Harry finally grew annoyed enough to bring up the imagined velvet curtains he had used to shield his mind last time.  
  
 _Yes. That’s what I want you to do._  
  
Harry nodded once and settled down to the hard task of caging Malfoy. His mental voice was neutral. Harry supposed they were back on those terms again, which was as well as he could expect things to be. He swished the curtains again and again, growing more skilled at moving them back and forth and trying to shield different memories.  
  
But it was impossible to catch Malfoy. He might have been a fairy, jumping around, now a spark of light flashing, now a little black scurrying object. Harry shook off any unfortunate comparisons with Rita Skeeter and went on trying to close the curtains.  
  
He finally did feel that he’d shut them around the most vulnerable center of his mind, the one that contained his memories of the final confrontation with Voldemort. He didn’t want to share the image of his parents and Sirius and Remus surrounding him as he walked to his death with everyone.  
  
 _But you’ll share this?_  
  
As suddenly as if he was still there, as if it was still happening, Harry found himself reeling through a memory of Uncle Vernon yelling at him. There was a broken plate on the floor, and eggs and bacon covering the legs of Dudley’s chair. Dudley was snickering at Harry the way he still did sometimes in Harry’s nightmares.  
  
And then it went away, because Harry had reacted instinctively and shrouded the whole scene with blue and green velvet.  
  
 _Good, good,_ said Malfoy. _But it’s strange. What could make you more vulnerable than memories of an abusive childhood?_  
  
Feeling the prickling sensation of sweat that he had shed as a child, Harry still managed what he thought of as a fairly casual shrug. _For one thing, so few people know about that. There are those who would tease me, but they’re rarer now that I’m out of school._ He paused, and then added pointedly, _At least, I think they’re rarer._  
  
 _I would never do something like that._  
  
Harry winced. Malfoy still didn’t cause him the pain that Snape had caused when he was inside Harry’s head, but he did set up a kind of vibration that was summoning other memories, ones that Harry didn’t want to think about. He said, _Fine. You won’t. But you won’t know what makes me more vulnerable than my childhood, either._  
  
Malfoy was silent for so long Harry would have thought he’d cut the Legilimency connection, but instead, he murmured, _You need to learn how to work with me, Potter. You can’t resent and ignore me, not if I’m to teach you more about Occlumency than a couple of temporary shields._  
  
 _Who’s to know?_  
  
 _You think I would_ lie _for you?_  
  
Harry winced again. Having Malfoy angry in his head really was very uncomfortable. He took a deep breath and said, _No. I mean, who would know unless a criminal tried Legilimency on me in the field? And then it would be my own bloody fault if my shields weren’t strong enough. Not your fault at all._  
  
Malfoy was silent again, but Harry could feel his presence casting back and forth like a hound on a scent. Then he said, _The Minister will order you tested, of course. He was the one who felt that you should do this. He won’t let you go without making sure that you’ve actually done it._  
  
Harry sighed and wished he could rub his forehead without other people immediately thinking that his scar was hurting again and screaming in panic. _Right. I see now. It’s just—I don’t trust you, Malfoy. I don’t trust Legilimency. I don’t trust people in my head. I’m not naturally good at Occlumency. It’s tiring to try and_ get _good at it._  
  
Malfoy was silent again. Harry waited. He wanted to snap at Malfoy to just _say_ what he was thinking, for Merlin’s sake, but that would be counterproductive at best, stupid at worst.  
  
Malfoy finally said, so utterly unexpectedly that Harry just gaped a little, _What if we made a trade?_  
  
 _What?_  
  
 _If I showed you a memory that I don’t want anyone to see you—freely, so you wouldn’t have to steal it the way you did yesterday—_ Malfoy ignored the way Harry tried to protest that that _wasn’t_ what had happened— _and you could share the one that you’re hiding. Then I could better judge how strong your shields are, and you would get a chance to see what really strong ones are like from the inside._  
  
The more Harry thought about it, the more he thought this just came from Malfoy’s curiosity. But he couldn’t think of any reason not to do it, as long as Malfoy didn’t talk about the memory. And why would he? Harry would have identical power over him now, and he would always know who’d run to the papers.  
  
 _You distrust a lot of people._  
  
 _Do you know how many people have tried to assassinate me in the past year, Malfoy?_  
  
This time, there was just confusion, as if he had managed to hit on a topic that Malfoy had never considered. _One? I remember that story in the_ Prophet _about the crazy fan who got too close by pretending to take pictures of you, but I never—_  
  
 _There were nine. The others, we managed to keep out of the papers. Lucky for the last bloke, too. He was a fellow Auror, Malfoy. It turned out that he had a sister who supported the Death Eaters, and escaped because her connections weren’t well-known, but then she utterly failed to get back into society at all, and she committed suicide last year. He blamed me for that. Because, obviously, Voldemort ruling the world would be fine as long as his sister was still alive._  
  
This time, the silence had a more considering quality to it. Harry became aware of the couch under him again.  
  
He sighed. Kingsley and Malfoy would probably say he wasn’t cooperating if he tried to go to sleep, but good _Merlin_ , he was tired.  
  
 _I didn’t know that,_ Malfoy said, and his darting presence was slow and considering now. _I would have approached you differently if I knew._  
  
Harry shook his head, already regretting telling Malfoy that, a little. It probably made him sound pathetic and overwhelmed, and he didn’t really feel that way, except now and then in odd moments. What he needed to do was get Malfoy out of his head and take a holiday from Occlumency.  
  
 _Can we meet back here in two days, instead of one?_  
  
 _Shacklebolt dictated the schedule, not me. But there’s something else we can do instead of more Occlumency,_ Malfoy added, and Harry winced a little at the pity that shone in his mental voice. _Come out of your head, Potter._  
  
Harry sighed as he slowly swished the velvet curtains shut and stopped concentrating so much on them and on the other sensations in his mind, letting the bodily ones seep back. The world swirled around him, then steadied. By the time he opened his eyes, Malfoy was standing up from the opposite couch and moving towards him with a curious, intent expression on his face.  
  
“I don’t think you’ve had a lot of people consider your wishes, in the last few years,” Malfoy murmured.  
  
Harry shook his head, not in disagreement, but because he didn’t see what this had to do with learning Occlumency _or_ taking a holiday from it. “No, but I knew that I was going to take a certain amount of orders when I signed up to be an Auror.”  
  
“No one should have to be in constant danger just because they’re an Auror.”  
  
Harry laughed even though he was a little concerned about hurting Malfoy’s feelings again when he did that. “Have you studied the kind of cases an Auror takes, Malfoy? Being in danger _is_ part of the job description.”  
  
“But you have personal enemies. That’s different.”  
  
“It is. But what can I do about it?”  
  
Malfoy halted in front of his couch and stared down at him. Harry looked back at him in silent, limp question. Malfoy finally nodded and said, “I wanted to offer you the chance to duel me, if you wanted.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Malfoy frowned a little at his blankness, and pushed his blond hair out of his eyes. “You sound like you need to conquer something or someone. You can’t do it with your enemies who are already in Azkaban, or dead, or otherwise beyond your reach. But I’m here. I thought you might enjoy the sensation of defeating me.”  
  
Harry sat up. He said the first thing that came into his head, as he was forced to exercise the tired muscles of his brain. “I’m not that person anymore.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Not the kind of person who can only be healed because of duels. Not the kind of person who needs to beat other children up because of something a professor did. I used to be, I admit it, and you suffered from it. But not now.”  
  
Malfoy gaped at him in silence. Harry stood up and walked over to him, putting his hand out. Malfoy flinched before he could stop himself, and Harry nodded and let his fingers come to rest on Malfoy’s robe front. He was sure that they still concealed the scars that he must be carrying from the _Sectumsempra_ curse Harry had flung at him.  
  
“You don’t have to offer yourself up a sacrifice, Malfoy,” he told the man softly, watching the frantic rise and fall of his chest, and the equally frantic confusion in his eyes. “You probably thought my mind would be clearer after that, and I would be a more cooperative Occlumency student, right?”  
  
Malfoy moved a step back. “I wasn’t thinking that at all,” he said, but the flush of his ears and the way his eyes avoided Harry’s gave him away. Or maybe Harry was just learning to read him, which was equally possible.  
  
“I don’t need you as a sacrifice,” Harry repeated, and patted his shoulder. At the moment, he felt even older, and more like one of the Auror instructors who had been training young ones for years than anything else. “Kingsley will just have to accept a change in the schedule. I’m going to be useless when I’m this tired. And I’m going to ask for the day off from work tomorrow, too.” He added, after a second’s thought, “Or does this need to be finished for _you_ as soon as possible? Is there a deadline that you have to meet? Or can you only spare a certain amount of time to train me?”  
  
“For _you_ , I’ll make time.”  
  
Harry blinked. The worried, confused Malfoy had disappeared as if he had never been. Standing in front of Harry was the man who had met him that first day, the confident Occlumency teacher he had been barely able to believe had emerged from his schoolboy rival.  
  
“Malfoy—”  
  
“You’re right about your uselessness if we push you now,” Malfoy said. He looked Harry over and nodded to himself. “This has been coming for a while. Today was just the catalyst. So. I’ll talk to Shacklebolt. Go home and sleep.” He unlocked the door and stepped through it, looking as if he was going to soar up through the Ministry like a memo himself to land on Kingsley’s desk.  
  
“And meditate?” Harry called after him.  
  
Malfoy looked back at him, a stripe of shadow painting its way down his face and making him look almost roguish. “No,” he said gently. “I think you’ve had enough deep thought for today, Potter.”  
  
He disappeared then, and left Harry wondering whether he should feel insulted or not.  
  
 _Not,_ he decided at last, but he left slowly, looking all the time for Malfoy around every corner.  
  
He didn’t find him.  
  
*  
  
 _At least I did get some peace of mind,_ Harry decided as he stepped once more into the Occlumency room. He found the door open and the couches in evidence, but no Malfoy. Still, Harry knew that didn’t mean he should slack off.  
  
He sat down on “his” couch and tried to meditate on blue and green. It was difficult without Malfoy there to coach him along, though. Harry frowned to himself. He would have to be good at Occlumency in the field, too, not just when Malfoy was there to help him.  
  
“Good afternoon, Potter.”  
  
Harry actually yelped and turned around to face Malfoy with his wand drawn before he could stop himself. He did lower the wand and mumble a greeting, blushing.  
  
Malfoy regarded him with raised eyebrows. “Did the holiday from Occlumency help at all, if that’s your reaction?”  
  
Harry swallowed and shook his head a little. “Not that,” he explained, and put his wand away. “Just that I was thinking so deeply about whether I can carry Occlumency with me into the field that you startled me.”  
  
Malfoy nodded and locked the door as usual. He paced slowly back and forth in front of Harry instead of settling on his couch, though. Harry watched him in confusion, not even capable of guessing at this point what was going through the former git’s head.  
  
“Listen,” said Malfoy, turning towards him. “You seem extraordinarily nervous about what I’m going to find your head, and whether or not I’m going to use it against you, despite all my efforts to convince you to trust me.”  
  
Harry shifted his shoulders a little, embarrassed now. “That’s not your fault, Malfoy. That’s just—shit I’m still dealing with from the past. I told you why I was having trouble concentrating, and that part is true. I slept a lot and enjoyed it, and that still doesn’t completely relax me. I don’t think anything will.”  
  
Malfoy only gave him a frown, as if he hadn’t heard Harry’s words well. Harry would have repeated them, but he was sure Malfoy had understood.  
  
He just didn’t _accept_.  
  
 _Why not?_ Harry thought wearily as he watched Malfoy begin to turn in another circle. _He didn’t cause this, even if his actions exacerbated it. This is just something that happened. And he wasn’t around to prevent Pewsey and Snape from destroying parts of my mind. Not his fault._  
  
Malfoy turned back and said, “I cannot give you the calm mind that Occlumency normally requires, Harry. I can get you to meditate and relax your body, and that’s enough for some people. My mistake was in thinking that it would be enough for you.”  
  
“Not your fault,” Harry said, glad he finally got to speak. “It all goes back to things you didn’t know about and couldn’t have prevented, and—”  
  
“But part of an Occlumency teacher’s job is to anticipate problems like these.” Malfoy frowned at him again. “I ought to have known, from what I know about your past.”  
  
“Even though you didn’t know about these specific problems?”  
  
“Even though.”  
  
Harry blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. He was going to get embarrassed and have to leave soon, he knew. Malfoy’s absolute insistence on blaming himself was enough to do that for him. “It’s not your fault,” he said, deciding he would try one more time. “It’s not something you could have done anything about even if you knew it at the time.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes had taken on a strange glitter. “You think I couldn’t have blocked your last Occlumency teacher form rooting through your mind looking for things he had no right to look for?”  
  
Harry couldn’t tell whether he meant that he would have reported Pewsey to the Minister, or whether he was talking about engaging in an actual battle, Occlumens against Occlumens. Either way, it was enough to make Harry nod. “I believe you could have done that. But nothing against Snape.”  
  
“Perhaps not,” Malfoy said, and for the first time since he’d begun speaking like this, he looked a little deflated. “Not with the person I was then, and the one you were, and the professor Snape was.” He bowed his head. “Perhaps not.”  
  
Harry sighed a little. Malfoy seemed so discouraged that Harry wanted to throw him a bone. “But I appreciate you wanting to do something about it now,” he added. “It’s a lot more than other people have been willing to do for me in the past.”  
  
“But that’s _wrong_.”  
  
“I know, but that’s the way the world works when your name’s Harry Potter.”  
  
“And to think I envied you for years,” Malfoy said quietly. “I thought you must be spoiled growing up. My parents spoiled me—yes, I can admit it now—but I thought it would be nothing next to what the Savior of the wizarding world would be receiving. I cried myself to sleep at night sometimes thinking about how your parties must be better than mine and your Christmas gifts were richer.”  
  
Harry snorted. “I didn’t have a birthday party until I was eleven years old.”  
  
“I know that now.” Malfoy still hesitated for a long moment before he said the next thing, although to Harry’s way of thinking, nothing could make him much more vulnerable than he’d already admitted. “You were so different from what I thought, and you still grew up stronger than I did.”  
  
“What is this, ‘Comfort-Me Hour?’” Harry demanded. “No, I didn’t. Malfoy. You have talents and skills that I don’t, or you wouldn’t have become my Occlumency teacher in the first place. Now. Are we going to stand around feeling sorry for ourselves and admiring each other for hours, or are we going to see what we can do about my sorry mind-clearing skills?”  
  
Malfoy seemed to snap back to attention, which Harry hoped for a minute meant he’d got over his weird mood. But instead, he took a long step towards Harry and reached out to slide a hand down his shoulder in a strange way.   
  
“I was thinking of another way,” Malfoy whispered. “Another way that we can relax you, and a way I can make up for my failures in the past.”  
  
“Which weren’t failures—”  
  
“No, I believe you when you say there was nothing I could have done at the time, even if I’d known.” Malfoy’s face was so intense that it looked like a mask carved of bone, and Harry shivered in spite of himself. “But it’s still—I should still have anticipated, from what you told me and what I knew of your past, that you would have some trouble relaxing around me, and clearing your mind wouldn’t be as simple as it is for some other people. I’m glad that I assigned you the meditation exercises, or otherwise I wouldn’t have got to know you well enough for what I’m about to suggest.”  
  
“Okay?” Harry asked, not sure where this was going.  
  
“But I should have assigned you even _better_ meditation exercises from the beginning,” Malfoy said. “It would have helped you more. I might not have had to…” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Harry. None of this is coming out right.”  
  
Harry cleared his throat. “That’s all right, Draco.” He could at least return the favor of speaking to Malfoy with his first name, even if he didn’t understand why Malfoy would consider it a favor. “Do what you need to do.”  
  
Malfoy looked up at him. His eyes had taken on a sheen like ice, which frightened Harry, because he thought it was tears. But then Malfoy brought up his thumbs and brushed them along Harry’s cheeks, exhaling slowly.  
  
“I’ve been inside you,” Malfoy said. “You’ve been inside me. And that wasn’t even a failure of my Occlumency shields, because you might have seen one of those memories of torture and not known what they were and been able to forget them. But it turned out you already _knew_ about them, and that meant you didn’t condemn me for them.”  
  
“Oh. Is that why you think you should have been able to know about what Pewsey did and keep it from happening? Because I already knew about some of your worst memories? But _neither_ of those things was—”  
  
Malfoy kissed him.  
  
The sensation was so unexpected that Harry actually opened his mouth with a gasp, and Malfoy’s tongue slid slowly over his lips. Harry reached out and grabbed Malfoy’s hip and shoulder in response, then his neck, easing him around into an angle where the kiss would be more comfortable for the both of them.  
  
It was easy to fall into. Malfoy was right about the intimacy that their minds had brought them. Harry could think of Malfoy’s mental voice and hear it superimposed over his real one, he’d already thought Malfoy was attractive, and this was like the coming to fruition of—  
  
But then Harry thought again.  
  
 _There’s another way we can relax you._  
  
Harry drew back and shook his head when Malfoy’s tongue tried to chase his. “I’m sorry, Draco. But I don’t want to have sex just to relax me. You deserve better than that. So do I.” It wasn’t easy to catch his breath, looking into Draco’s wide eyes. “It’s—you’re pretty bloody attractive. But not like this.”  
  
Draco stood there for a second. Harry thought he might do something because he was upset at Harry’s refusal, but he only appeared to be thinking, deeply. His hands had come to rest on Harry’s shoulder and waist in an echo of the way Harry was touching him. It had to be the kisses that had made Harry not notice that, because most of the time he would have been aware at once.  
  
And then Draco looked up, and said, “I don’t want to just relax you.”  
  
Harry blinked. Draco was wrongfooting him continually, and he had honestly believed that no one had the power to do that to him anymore, at least not since his last conversation with Dumbledore in the image of King’s Cross. “But you said—”  
  
“That was the acceptable thing to say. It was the right thing to say, if Shacklebolt ever demands to see memories of this conversation or your Occlumency training.” Draco shivered and sighed at the same time. “But I know how to edit memories, as a master of Occlumency. I never need to show him this, and the real reason I want to do this.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“You’re pretty bloody attractive yourself, you know.”  
  
Harry stared. Then he said, “And you’re gay?”  
  
“I’ve had a few male lovers in the past,” said Draco, and shrugged. “I’ve also always thought I want to be married someday. I’m not looking to cage myself in words I can’t change. I want to—share with people a little longer than that.” He slid a hand over Harry’s chest, along his collarbone, and the sparks made Harry ache with their heat. “I didn’t let myself think about it too much. It’s _beyond_ unprofessional for an Occlumency teacher to want that kind of thing with someone he’s training. It can be fatal if it damages the trust between them.”  
  
“And you already blame yourself for all sorts of things that aren’t your fault.”  
  
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Draco said, with a grin that made Harry roll his eyes, because of course _he_ wouldn’t. But Draco was serious again when he drew Harry back towards him. “I want to do this because I want it. I was masking it with excuses that would make things sound better to you and the Ministry and even myself. But—I want this.”  
  
Since Harry did, and he didn’t think he could ever distrust Draco again as much as he had at Hogwarts, he nodded and pulled him in. Draco rested his head on Harry’s shoulder for a second. Harry held him more tenderly, wondering if he was overwhelmed by what had just passed between them.  
  
But then Draco used the positioning of his head to suck the side of Harry’s neck, and Harry gasped and laughed and cursed.  
  
“You bastard.”  
  
Draco was smiling brightly at him, finally emerged from behind his calm and almost emotionless masks, and knelt down in front of Harry before Harry could even ask him what he wanted. Harry reached out and traced a finger along the curve of Draco’s forehead, watching in an almost detached way as it trembled.  
  
This was as far as he had ever gone with a man. It hadn’t—he hadn’t wanted to announce it to anyone until he was ready. And then he had held back and further back after the trouble with Pewsey, not wanting to allow anyone who would betray him so close.  
  
But Draco wouldn’t betray him. Harry knew that the way he knew the taste of his own blood on his tongue.  
  
Draco was already nuzzling his head against the front of Harry’s robes, and Harry pulled them open himself, holding the folds of cloth aside the way he had held the curtains aside to welcome him to his mind. The same comparison might have occurred to Draco, because he was gasping and flushed and wet-mouthed by the time he wrapped his lips around Harry’s cock.  
  
Harry dropped straight backwards, onto the couch. By the time he began to think that he might have hurt Draco by jamming his cock against his jaw, Draco had already moved with him, and resumed his former position, sucking with fervor.  
  
It surpassed all Harry’s expectations. His head was roiling with heat, his body blazed with it, and he lifted his hips again and again, not thinking about the discomfort he might be causing Draco now. If he did, it wasn’t enough to make Draco pull away. He adjusted himself sometimes, pulling Harry’s thighs apart with his hands and twisting his head to the side to get a better angle, but he never grimaced or acted as if his mouth hurt.  
  
Not even when Harry tapped the back of his head with a shaking hand, the only warning he could give now. His voice was choked back in his throat. But Draco only closed his eyes and opened his mouth and _accepted_.  
  
Was it any wonder that Harry spent himself so shamefully fast, when he had _that_ vision in front of him?  
  
But at least he could recover quickly, which was a part of Auror training that he was more than grateful for. Draco was still gasping when Harry rolled over and dropped into a crouch himself and grasped Draco through the cloth with his eager hands.  
  
He had wanted to open his mouth and give Draco the sucking of his life, but apparently that wasn’t what Draco wanted right now. He held Harry’s wrists with his own and moved them back and forth instead, not even bothering to open his robes, his mouth open and his breath heavy and panting. He was shuddering so much that Harry wouldn’t even have known when he came, except that suddenly there was soft wetness under his hands.  
  
It didn’t disgust Harry the way he had sometimes worried he would. He leaned in and kissed the side of Draco’s neck, and Draco slumped against him, boneless and sighing.   
  
When he could speak, he murmured, “When I thought of it as just relaxation practice and something for me, that was all right, but now…” He straightened up and brushed back Harry’s hair from his scar. “You know I can’t stay as your Occlumency teacher now. It would be unprofessional, and jealousy might sometimes get in the way.”  
  
Harry nodded; he’d resigned himself to that already. “But you’ll know enough to help me pick someone trustworthy, and to be able to check on their work to make sure they’re not doing anything they shouldn’t.”  
  
“They had _better_ not.”  
  
Harry laughed at the ferocity in Draco’s voice, and the way he cleaned himself up, and his description of the “report” he would give Kingsley. He would say simply that Harry had mastered the basic details of Occlumency, but there was some little incompatibility in their minds and Harry now needed a new teacher.  
  
“But one thing I can tell him, definitely,” Draco said, standing up, and looking cool and sleek and _professional_ in his robes.  
  
Harry looked at him, still doing his own Refreshing and Cleaning Charms.  
  
“You’re going to be a good enough Occlumens to stay an Auror,” Draco said, and pressed with three fingers into Harry’s cheek, and left.  
  
Harry stayed in the room for a moment, despite the unlocked door. There was languor in his own muscles, and a smile that wouldn’t go away lingering around the corners of his mouth.  
  
He was glad that he’d chosen to chance opening the walls of his mind to Draco Malfoy.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
